Brandon Morris - The Enceladus Mission - Hard Science Fiction

Martin watched as Willinger gazed intently at the waitress who sashayed back toward the bar. Glad to see his carnal instincts are still functioning.

Two large plates sat in front of Martin and his host. Each one offered two ribeye steaks, that Martin estimated to weight about ten ounces apiece. They also each had a baked potato, split open, in aluminum foil. The cook had poured plenty of cream gravy on each potato and sprinkled crumbled bacon on top.

Willinger began cutting his steak. “Enjoy your meal. You will be dreaming of such steaks—and I know what I’m talking about.”

Martin took his knife and fork and cut off a piece of steak. Red meat juice oozed out of it— mmm, just the way I like it. The steak smelled of a charcoal grill.

“Great place you chose for us,” he said.

They ate in silence for a while. Willinger did not mind eating a bit noisily. Martin, on the other hand, tried to eat quietly, as his mother had taught him.

“Why didn’t you refuse to go on this mission?”

Martin had a hard time understanding Willinger, who had spoken with his mouth full. Martin took his time and finished chewing the piece of meat in his mouth, swallowing before answering.

“I’m not sure. To me, it seems to… make sense. After all, someone has to do it, and I am both suitable and expendable. I have never done something that seemed to make sense for this many reasons.”

“Expendable? Is no one waiting for you?”

“My mother in Germany won’t get to see me for a Christmas or two.”

“No girlfriend? No ex-wife or someone like that? Aren’t you past 30 already? Or—are you gay?”

Martin laughed. “Actually, I am already 39.”

“Not that it would bother me if you were gay.” Willinger looked a bit embarrassed.

“No. I lived with a woman for a long time. She was the love of my life and all that. I didn’t even know I was capable of achieving something like that.”

“And then she met someone else?”

Martin briefly paused. “She… she died. It was a suicide.”

“I am so sorry.” Willinger placed an arm on Martin’s shoulder.

“She suffered from depression. Never said anything to indicate she would end her life. I should have noticed, but my work…”

“I understand.”

I am not sure Willinger really understands, Martin considered. I do not know this man well enough to tell, but his statement feels genuine .

“Martin, you seem to be running away from life. Am I right?”

Martin shrugged. Then he saw the waitress approaching their table.

“Two more beers, please,” Willinger motioned to her.

Martin knew he had a task waiting for him. But first he had to get drunk with Dave.

The next morning he awoke, lying fully dressed on his bed, and with a hangover. Someone took my shoes off, though, Martin noticed. I remember the last beer at PJ’s, and then Willinger must have driven me here and helped me onto my bed. His head was throbbing, but he did not feel nauseous. I have the day off —that much he remembered. Starting tomorrow, the wilderness survival course was going to begin.

Martin tried to remember the previous evening. Dave asked me an important question—am I trying to run away from my life by joining this mission? Now the question sounded to him like an accusation. Is it really cowardly to go on an uncertain mission lasting for years? Yes, Willinger is right . It only would seem courageous to outsiders, to people who did not know me. It doesn’t concern me at all that the space mission has a lot of issues and the technology is far from proven.

Sure, there were a number of possible situations he had so far avoided. No one knew he was afraid in the dark, which had started in his childhood when his mother went out in the evening. Outer space was the very domain of darkness, followed closely by the depths of the ocean—or an endless hole reaching for kilometers into the ice. He would also have to spend many days interacting with colleagues he did not know yet, even though dealing with people was not one of his strong points.

The reason he had agreed to it in spite of all these issues had not been clear to him back then. Now, I’m starting to have an idea how strong my distaste for my life must have become, if I voluntarily want to face my deepest fears. I must have something in common with my dead girlfriend. It’s probably the very idea that this might be a journey without return that makes it so attractive—a death wish I’ve never admitted to myself.

What does that mean for me and my decision? It meant he was not suitable for this trip into space. It meant he was a danger to his colleagues, who surely valued their lives. If I really do not care whether I die, how can I be certain I would do everything to save the lives of my crewmates in an emergency—and my own life, as they will be depending on me? In this unique mission, the greatest uncertainty factor was not the immature technology, but people like himself.

Martin decided to leave the mission. He would quit his job at NASA, find a nice wife on the internet, get married, and raise kids. The woman whose name they did not want to reveal to him would get his ticket to Enceladus. However, he did not feel the relief he had expected after coming to this decision.

The following day was supposed to be a travel day. In the morning, Martin already tried to find someone he could inform of his decision to quit, but unfortunately it was the weekend. He only met the driver who took him to the airport. After the landing in Boston, a second driver waited for him. He was from India, and Martin barely understood what he said. They drove northward for four hours, almost to the Canadian border. Soon after they left the airport, the rain started. The driver listened to soft music and whistled along out of tune. After half an hour, Martin fell asleep.

“Sir, we’re going to arrive in five minutes,” the driver finally announced.

The vehicle was driving on a narrow road. To the right was a deep green forest, soggy with moisture, and to the left a lake. Even though it must be still afternoon, it was much darker than in Houston.

Wide awake now, he asked, “Where are we going to arrive?”

“At Rangeley, Maine, sir,” answered the driver. “The Navy has a training camp there, but I am sure you knew that.”

“I am going to be alone?”

“Sorry, sir, I wasn’t told anything about that. I am just supposed to drop you off at the entrance, and then you’ll never see me again.”

They had finally reached their destination. The driver pulled over, shifted into park, but kept the engine idling. “Well, here we are. Don’t forget your backpack, sir, and have a nice day.”

The driver seemed to be in a hurry. Martin took his backpack, opened the door, and got out. It was windy and cold. Not even 10 degrees , he guessed. He saw a gate made of iron bars and a smaller green door next to it that was in view of a sentry box. Martin approached and knocked on the dirty window. At first nothing happened, and then he heard the door creak. The sound of heavy boots indicated a soldier was coming toward him.

“Chief Petty Officer Miller. You are Mr. Neumaier?”

Martin handed him his NASA ID card.

“Great, then I won’t have to wait for you any longer.”

CPO Miller opened the gate and let Martin in. Then he locked it from the inside with a heavy horizontal beam.